[ Photo by Lloyd Newman on Unsplash ]
I want you to know
All is blacked out but continues to grow
– Les Friction, “Who Will Save You Now”
Vor’min Evercrown offered a final shallow bow of farewell as the dark-haired man left the room, then returned to his seat. The sin'dorei steepled his fingertips together and took a slow breath before turning to his remaining guest.
“You’re certain, Lady Morrowsun,” Vor’min asked in flawless Thalassian, “that you wish us to extend our services to this man, this Gilnean, on your reference? You understand that it’s quite unusual. Our offices have endured scrutiny enough advocating on your behalf, even if the Lord Regent’s stance has… mellowed somewhat since his marriage and the years of armistice.”
A floating city provides no room for expansion, and Dalaran was a highly valued location - not only as a neutral space of business but for the prestige of proximity to the Kirin Tor. A decade and a relocation to the Broken Isles had done much to erase the memory of Lady Proudmoore’s purge above Northrend. In these times, over five years into the armistice between the Horde and Alliance, square footage in Dalaran came at a premium.
So it was unsurprising that the Evercrown’s “branch office” above the Legerdemain Lounge, sibling to a space in Suramar and an extension of his operations in Silvermoon, was a single, small, if exceptionally well-appointed, room. No. What was surprising was that it existed at all. That anyone would pay the exorbitant prices to lease a space in Dalaran spoke of money. Connection. And a certain sybaritic flair.
Which suited Seraanna entirely.
“I bring you a gift for your service of these… past years, and you question the shape it walks in?” Seraanna reclined in her seat opposite Vor’min’s desk, idly considering the contents of a wineglass held loosely between her fingers, wisps of Shadow wrapping the stem. “Already have I introduced the Lord Hawke to the more open… minded patrons I yet have within Suramar, and my sister is eager to sail the Aralya’diel to his shores. Yet if such trade is beneath… the brothers Evercrown, then I might –”
The ringing of a distant bell - soft, insistent, and atonal - interrupted.
Seraanna glanced question at the door, but her host only shrugged apologetically.
“Dalaran is the city of the Kirin Tor, Lady Morrowsun. Of mages,” Vor’min explained, even as he quickly stacked loose papers and placed a few items into drawers of his desk. “And they are wont to move at their own whims, with little regard for business. That is the warning bell that they intend to do so.” He nodded towards the sideboard, laden with fine wine and fresh fruit. “Do grab a bottle or two, would you? Things tend to become unsteady during teleportation.”
Her expression echoed doubt. Still, Seraanna reached out to grasp the necks of a bottle of port and another of cold voidblend. Arcane energy built in the air, tickled at the void tendrils hidden at the nape of her neck, filled her senses like the coursing static before a lightning strike.
She was nowhere.
She was everywhere.
She was somewhere.
Here.
The shadows cast by sunlight from the window shifted abruptly, and Seraanna yawned to relieve the pressure in her ears as the air changed. A crash of dishware echoed from the Legerdemain below, followed by faint curses, the outcome of some shelf being unsecured before Dalaran moved from one place to a distant other.
“There. See?” Vor’min’s smile was full of reassurances, a gentle nod reminding Seraanna to release the bottles even as he relaxed his own white-knuckled grip upon his desk, the man eager to paper over the interruption. “Nothing but the vagaries of mages. Now, of course, we’re open to this opportunity you’ve brought, but I must ask if this supersedes the arrangements you’ve had us make regarding… the – Lady Morrowsun?”
The ren’dorei drew a gasping breath of shock and curled over her in her seat, her face twisted in a moment of pain as the Shadow cast beneath her twisted and writhed. Her wineglass tumbled from her fingers to shatter on the floor, a red stain spilling into Shaldorei weave.
“…something is… wrong,” she murmured, gathering herself with an effort as the moment seemed to pass. “This was in Telogrus, this was…-”
Seraanna rose abruptly, tenebrous wisps wrapping unbidden about her form as Vor'min leaned back in alarm. Sounds - screams, harsh bells of alarm, crashes of stonework - began to echo from the window. Vor'min’s eyes grew wide with worry, a yet-unspoken question for the darkened shape his client had become.
“…guard yourself." Seraanna's tone was near a whisper. “I must find Jasper.”
Vor’min was still struggling for words as Seraanna swept from the room, moving through the hallway to emerge upon a balcony overlooking Dalaran’s streets. At the other end of the city, streams of arcane energy flowed into the Violet Citadel to feed a shadowed presence that was achingly familiar yet beyond her reach or memory. Above, innumerable rifts tore open the sky to drop skittering creatures to the cobblestones. Chitin clashed against arms as defenders poured from the Silver Enclave and Sunreaver’s Sanctuary, and the city shook as enormous beasts tumbled spires and wreaked havoc.
Seraanna stepped over the railing, shadows carrying her to the streets, and began to snake her way through the chaos. Certainly, Jasper must have had the presence of mind to make for the Silver Enclave, she thought, lashing out to twist the mind of one nerubian - memories from Northrend finally recognizing the attackers - and whispering a Word of Death to another. But something tickled at her ear unbidden in the midst of the chaos, something beyond the whispers of the Void that she'd long endured, something insisting for its place among the myriad truths...
She redoubled her efforts to reach the Silver Enclave, ichor staining the cobblestones beneath her feet, the screeches of dying arachnids mixing with the fading shouts of Dalaran’s citizenry. She was a creature of Will and Shadow and tousled hair, cutting through nerubians that were only replaced twice and threefold for each that fell.
Nearing the Enclave, Seraanna saw a knot of Silver Covenant valiantly attempt to hold the gate, only to be overwhelmed by the swarming numbers of the onslaught. She felt the gathered energies of arcane portals, heard the shouted directions, the attempt to wrest a retreat from overwhelming force even as defenders fell and Dalaran crumbled. Heedless of the cost, she gathered Shadow for a final press to reach –
– distraction. A glimpse of seemingly familiar crimson from the edge of Seraana’s vision, lost again in the swarm, caused Seraanna’s resolve to stumble over echoes of an old song and a small cottage…
The prick at the back of her neck caught Seraanna unawares, the pain cold and sharp as it spread. She whirled, her wrath calling shadows that tore apart the nerubian that had crept up behind her. But venom already coursed through her veins. Her skull throbbed and senses grew dull, her limbs falling heavy. A silence that might have otherwise been a welcome respite quieted her thoughts and smothered her will.
Seraanna barely felt the unyielding strands of silk envelope her body, and heard a chittering voice speak from what seemed like an infinite distance.
“She’ll have use for this one. Take it to Azj-Kahet with the others.”
Silence bore the remaining memory into darkness...
References: @kat-hawke's Jasper Hawke, @maxparkhurst
